Mummified Meringues (9 page)

Chapter Nine

Cassie was knee deep in customers when Lexy arrived back at the bakery after dropping off Nans. She threw on an apron and rushed out front to help out. She sold several pies, dozens of cookies for take-out and countless scones and muffins for people who wanted to sit at the cafe tables and enjoy the view.
 

The constant rush of customers and chatter occupied her mind, leaving her no time to think about Nans or the mummy case.

Once the rush subsided, Lexy grabbed a white towel and made her way to the tables to clean up while Cassie re-arranged the bakery case.

“The ladies said my meringue recipe still needs sugar,” Lexy complained as she wiped the crumbs from the table into her cupped hand.

“I didn’t try the latest batch—”

Cassie stopped abruptly, causing Lexy to look up and see her friend looking at her funny … no, not
at
her—over her shoulder. Lexy turned in the direction of Cassie’s stare and her heart skidded when she saw a small, white-haired woman standing directly across the street. Not just any white hair woman. Lexy recognized her as the woman in the red Mustang—Violet Switzer.

Lexy’s heart thudded as she realized Violet was staring straight at her. Their eyes met, then Violet raised two fingers, pointed them at her eyes, then extended her index finger toward Lexy.

I’m watching you.

Then she turned and disappeared into the haberdashery across the street.

“What the heck was that all about?” Cassie asked.

“That was Violet Switzer!”

“Your competition in the dessert contest?” Cassie’s lips quirked up in a smile. “Looks like she’s got you all riled up.”

“Well, she’s following me and it’s creepy.”

“Look, you’re falling right into her trap. She’s trying to psych you out. What you gotta do is pretend like it doesn’t bother you.”

Lexy chewed her bottom lip. Cassie was right. Violet was trying to get her all flustered and she was playing right in to her hands. “Yeah, you’re right. I don’t know why I’m letting her get to me. I mean, what’s to be scared of? It’s just a contest, for crying out loud.”

“Right. Maybe you should turn the tables on her … follow
her
around and see how she likes it,” Cassie suggested.

“You know, that’s a good idea.” Lexy glanced across the street. Was Violet still in the store? Should she rush over and follow her? No, she didn’t have time—she had more important matters to tend to. “I’ll have to find out more about her. Maybe even pay her a visit … but first, I have to stop in at
The Elms Pub
.

“
The Elms
?” Cassie frowned at Lexy. “Why do you have to go there?”

“Tom O’Keefe, the one who built Jack’s house, used to hang around there and I was thinking I might be able to ask around about him. It seems like the kind of place that a lot of old-timers would still hang around at.”

“Oh, it is,” Cassie shut the bakery case door and moved over to the self-serve coffee station to straighten up the K-cups and pour a coffee for herself.
 

“You go there?” Lexy tossed her towel over her shoulder and crossed to the counter where she started to assemble a white bakery box.

“Yeah. My brother knows the owner—the grandson of the original owner, actually.”

Lexy perked up. “You wouldn’t be able to arrange for me to talk to the original owner, would you?”

“Pops? Sure, he’s usually there every day. His name is Sam. Just tell him I sent you and he’ll treat you like an old friend.”
 

“Great.” Lexy reached into the case and took out a tray of white, fluffy meringue cookies. “I’ll take some of these meringues as a bribe.”
 

“Is that the latest recipe?” Cassie asked.

Lexy nodded as she transferred the cookies in to the box.

“Let me try one.” Cassie picked one off the plate. “We’ll see if the ladies are right or if their taste buds are senile.”

Lexy watched silently as Cassie took a bite, chewed, then licked her lips and nodded. “Sorry, they are right. It needs maybe just a touch of sugar—like only a teaspoon.”

Lexy sighed. She’d have to carve out some time to fiddle with the recipe which meant less time on the case. Glancing out into the street where Violet had been, she felt her competitive nature take over. She knew she could win that dessert contest no matter what kinds of games Violet wanted to play. Besides, she could certainly best an old lady, both in cooking and psychology.
 

As far as Violet Switzer was concerned, it was game on. But first, Lexy had to find just one clue that would implicate Tom O’Keefe in the decades-old murder. She closed the lid of the box and headed out to
The Elms Pub
.

***

The Elms Pub
sat on the corner of Elm and Center Streets across from the Mini-Mart gas station in the section of town where suburbia turned into small-town urban.

Lexy stood just inside the door, adjusting to the dim lighting. In front of her, a long, wooden bar ran half the length of the room. It was lined with high-backed bar stools, their brass footrests scuffed and black from years of use. Behind the bar, a few neon beer signs added extra lighting, which, in Lexy’s opinion, was much needed.

Tables were scattered around the edge of the room. They looked clean and were mostly empty except for one table with two middle-aged men sipping beers and a booth in the back corner where a white-haired man cooled his palms around a frosted mug of golden liquid.
 

The bartender looking questioningly at Lexy’s white box as she crossed to the bar.
 

“Hi.” She smiled. “I’m looking for Sam. My friend, Cassie Darling, sent me.”

“Oh, you know Cassie? She’s a good friend. Pops is back there.” He thrust his chin toward the white-haired man in the booth.

“Thanks.”
 

Pops watched with curious eyes as Lexy made her way toward him. She stopped beside the booth, resting the bakery box on top of the table and holding out her hand. “Hi. I’m Lexy Baker, a friend of Cassie Darling.”

His smile widened and he met Lexy’s hand with a firm, warm handshake.
 

“I’m Sam Barlow. Any friend of Cassie’s is a friend of mine.” He gestured across the table. “Please sit.”

Lexy slid into the booth just as the bartender appeared at her shoulder.

“Can I get you something?” he asked.

“Just a coffee, please.”

“Comin’ right up.”
 

Sam nodded at the bakery box. “What’s in there?”

“Meringue cookies. It’s a new recipe I’m trying out for the Brook Ridge Desserts contest.” Lexy flipped the top open and angled the box toward Sam so he could get a better look.

“Oh, you’re the one that owns the bakery where Cassie works!” Sam said as he picked out a cookie.

“Yep. That’s me. I don’t know how well those go with beer, though.”

Sam nodded, but bit in anyway. “It’s good. But you didn’t come all the way here to bring me cookies, did you?”

“No. I think you might be able to help me.”

His brows raised a fraction of an inch, his gray eyes gleaming with interest. “How’s that?”

“I’m sure you heard about the mummy that was found in one of the houses a few streets over.”

Sam nodded.

“Well, that was my husband’s house, and he’s a suspect.” Lexy watched as Sam grabbed another cookie. “I’d like to help clear his name.”

“Why don’t you have Cassie’s young man help you? Isn’t he a police detective?”

“Actually, he’s my husband’s partner. But they aren’t allowed to investigate the case because the body was found in Jack’s house … and the detective on the case isn’t being very cooperative.”

Sam took a swig of beer and made a sour face. “You’re right. Those cookies don’t go very well with beer. Not sweet enough. Anyway, what makes you think I can help you?”

Lexy leaned across the table and lowered her voice. “Well, we have a theory that the killer is the builder that built all the homes in the neighborhood.”

Sam’s brows dipped into a ‘V’. “You mean Tommy O’Keefe?”

“Yes.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Because of the way the body was hidden. Someone made a secret room at the end of the basement—small enough so no one would notice it was ever there, and then they put the body in and sealed it off. That could only have been done before the home was occupied.”

Sam rubbed his chin. “Not necessarily. If the homeowners were in on it, it could have been done at any time.”

“It couldn’t have been them,” Lexy said. “They’re a nice elderly couple!”

“Sure,
now
they are … but back when those houses were built, they weren’t old. You never know what people are up to.”

Lexy tilted her head. He had a point. Still, what reason would the McDonalds have to hide a dead man in the basement?
 

A coffee appeared at her elbow and she slid it across the scarred wooden table until it was in front of her. “So, you don’t think it was O’Keefe?”

Sam shrugged.

“You were here a lot back then, right?”

“Yeah. I ran the place. Couldn’t afford much help back then so I was here all the time.”

“Did you notice anything strange about O’Keefe back then? Or anyone else, for that matter.” Lexy sipped her coffee and stared at him over the rim of her cup while he thought about it.

“Well, it was a long time ago and he
was
in here almost every night.” Sam sipped his beer. “But I do seem to recall one time he bought rounds for the entire house.”

Lexy’s left brow ticked up. “Really? Did he say why?”

“Near as I can remember he said he’d made a big house deal. He was real excited about it.”

“Do you remember exactly when that was?” Lexy asked.

Sam shook his head. “I can’t recall the year, but I do remember it was summertime. Everyone was wearing t-shirts. I can picture it just like it was yesterday—everyone was pretty excited and we talked about it for weeks, since free drinks don’t get offered often. Tommy was somewhat of a celebrity after that. Of course, he was already pretty well-known from the dart championships.”

“I saw the trophies at his place.”

“He won the championship a lot of years in a row.”

“Until Violet Switzer came along.”

Sam looked at her sideways. “You know her?”

“I don’t actually know her. Just
of
her. I’m going up against her in the Brook Ridge Dessert contest.” Lexy pointed to the box of cookies. “This is my test recipe for my entry in the contest.”

Sam grimaced. “I don’t envy you. That Violet can be a stickler. She likes to win, and once she has her mind set on something, she grabs on like a schnauzer’s teeth biting the mailman’s pant leg.”

“Tell me about it.”

“But the way to deal with people like her is to not let them intimidate you. Don’t let her make you nervous.” Sam picked another cookie out of the box and bit into it. “Add a little more sugar to this recipe and you’ve got a good shot.”

Lexy’s heart dropped thinking about the contest. Did she have a shot? She’d never had so much trouble with a recipe before. But she didn’t have time to worry about that now—she had more important things to talk to Sam about than her cookie recipe. “So … back to Tom O’Keefe. Did he have any enemies? Anyone he fought with?”

Sam shook his head. “Nope. Not at all. He was happy-go-lucky. Still is, actually. And no wonder, with all the money he’s got.” Sam narrowed his eyes at Lexy. “I don’t get why you are so hell-bent on thinking it was Tommy. Do you have some compelling evidence that points to him?”

“I can’t imagine who else would have been able to hide a body in the basement. It must have been done before the McDonalds moved in and, since he was the builder, he would have had the access to do that.”

Sam shook his head. “This doesn’t make sense to me. How did you discover it if it was a sealed off room and why did you never notice the room before?”

“The room was so narrow that no one would have noticed it was there unless they measured. Plus, the basement was full of piled up boxes so it was impossible to tell. It wasn’t until we were cleaning it out and my dog scratched away some of the cement coating on the wall that we found a little hole and discovered the room.”

“Did you say plaster on the walls?”

“Yeah. It was like some kind of plaster or stucco.”

Sam nodded. “I know exactly what you mean. Seen that technique done in a lot of basements around here and I think that means you’re barking up the wrong tree.”

“How so?”

“Tommy didn’t finish basements like that. If you think the killer is the one who did the cement job, then you don’t want Tommy O’Keefe … you want Bobby Nesbaum.”

Chapter Ten

Lexy’s cell phone chirped as she left
The Elms Pub
. But it wasn’t Ida or Nans with the results of their financial search like she’d hoped—it was a text from her mother.
 

Lexy opened it to see a cock-eyed picture of a large, sandy area.